


rotten work

by lesbianryuko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fear of Death, Fever Dreams, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Post-Nuclear War, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 09:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22967803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianryuko/pseuds/lesbianryuko
Summary: In the fallout of a nuclear war, Edelgard suffers from radiation sickness.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52
Collections: 2020 Edelthea Secret Valentines Exchange





	rotten work

**Author's Note:**

> HI OKAY so this was written for the edelthea secret valentines exchange for @6iirls on twitter! i hope you enjoy!! they didn't have a specific prompt in mind and just said to have fun with it and uhhh i love angst with happy endings and cool AUs so i wrote about a nuclear fallout. heh.
> 
> ANYWAY title taken from [this](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d19d444086e85df82d2d358527dc329e/tumblr_p1ut55HOJr1tc1dolo1_500.png) gay ass quote i'm sure everyone has seen before lol. thank u for reading :3

In the fallout, Edelgard dreams.

She dreams of skyscrapers bursting into flames and collapsing in on themselves. She dreams of sheds and cottages and barns trampled by the sheer force of an explosion, effectively wiped from existence in a matter of milliseconds. She dreams of running, running, _running_ as the mushroom cloud climbs ever higher into the sky, swallowing everything and everyone until there’s nothing left but dust.

She dreams of running, but she’s never fast enough.

In her last moments, as she gasps in vain for breath, one name crawls its way out of her mouth: _Doro—_

“Edie.”

Her eyes snap open.

As if summoned by her cry, Dorothea hovers over Edelgard’s body, her eyes narrowed in concern and her mouth turned down in a small frown.

Edelgard lets her breath out slowly. She can feel the malaise creeping into her body, ever present. “Yes?”

Dorothea tries to arrange her lips into something resembling a smile, but it just ends up looking sad and lopsided, a sorry excuse for comfort. Reluctantly, she lies back down on her side of the bed. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, almost to herself. “We’re okay now.”

Edelgard isn’t so sure, but she doesn’t say anything.

Rolling over so that her back is facing Dorothea, she sighs. It’s been about two months since most of the horror took place. The cult that plunged the world as they knew it into desolation is likely satisfied by now, with most of humanity obliterated. Still, her mind tortures her with thoughts of another explosion, one that separates Edelgard from the only person alive that she truly cares about.

The blinds are closed, but a bit of pale morning light still trickles through the windows of the shoddy motel room where they’ve been staying. Edelgard can tell it’s still cloudy, though; it’s always cloudy out now. She hasn’t seen the sun since the bomb that ravaged her body.

She can hear the dirty old mattress squeak as Dorothea climbs out of bed and wanders into the bathroom, followed by the sound of the faucet running. Edelgard pictures her girlfriend splashing contaminated water onto her face.

Is that what they are? _Girlfriends_? The word seems so foreign and juvenile, a term from a bygone world. But “partner” sounds strange, “lover” even more so, and they’re nowhere near marriage status (and even if they were, what would be the point?), so “girlfriend” will have to do, she supposes.

As she lies on her side in the tangled sheets, Edelgard amuses herself by coming up with different synonyms, each one more lavish and ridiculous than the last. _Mistress. Consort. Paramour. Concubine._ In the aftermath of the end of the world, it’s important to take pleasure in the small things. Often, it’s all they have.

The sickness is still there, not that she expected it to just go away. Hoped, maybe, but not expected. Edelgard shuts her eyes and pulls the blankets over her overheated, burn-scarred body in an attempt to stop the chills that inevitably wrack her near-emaciated frame. She hears the bathroom door swing open, and then a few seconds later, a soft hand reaches under the comforter to touch her sweaty forehead.

Now it’s Dorothea’s turn to sigh. “How’re you feeling, Edie?”

Edelgard makes a few unintelligible grumbling noises. Even she’s not quite sure what she’s trying to say.

Dorothea runs her fingers through Edelgard’s short white hair, and Edelgard lets out a soft breath at her touch. “It’ll blow over soon,” Dorothea says, but she sounds like she’s trying to reassure herself more than Edelgard.

“I hope so,” Edelgard says weakly. Dorothea cradles her cheek, and Edelgard leans into her touch. Even with everything in shambles, she doesn’t want to die. Not here. Not now.

—

Before the bombings, Edelgard had ten blood siblings and one stepbrother. Now she’s an only child.

Some, she heard, died instantly, unable to even register what was happening before their bodies burned up. They were the lucky ones. Some died within days from a severe form of radiation sickness.

They’d known the bombs were coming—the whole country did—but there was only so much they could do to prepare, and there was no way to reason with a cult bent on destroying humanity at large. At the end of the day, it was a matter of being in the right place at the right time.

Edelgard can remember feeling like she was being burned alive, her long brown hair singed completely off. She can remember curling around herself while waves of heat rolled off her back. She can remember being on the edge of consciousness while someone from a rescue team picked her up and carried her to the nearest hospital, where they were forced to lay her down on a mat on the floor because they’d run out of beds.

It was there, in that foul-smelling hub of death and suffering, that Edelgard met Dorothea.

The nurse who treated Edelgard was a middle-aged woman named Manuela, who, despite her very obvious stress, was always kind and attentive to her clients. Dorothea was her assistant, having been in training when the war started. In the first few days especially, Edelgard can remember watching the two, as well as the rest of the hospital staff, run from patient to patient in a way that was both frenzied and meticulous. She could clearly see that they’d been preparing for this for a long time, but it was still unlike anything they’d ever faced before.

For a little while, life was a blur of sweat, vomit, and short but sweet moments with Dorothea, who would often be assigned to watch or take care of Edelgard when Manuela had to deal with another patient. It was Dorothea who held Edelgard’s hair back while she retched and retched, who gently insisted she eat and drink even when that was the last thing she felt like doing. It was Dorothea who lifted her up and set her down in a hospital bed the moment one became available, her body warm and her hands soft. It was Dorothea who asked her how she was feeling not only physically but emotionally, and it was Dorothea who would often bring news about members of Edelgard’s family. Many methods of communication were down due to the destruction of cell towers and telephone lines, but lists of the dead were uploaded and updated whenever possible, and a few of Edelgard’s siblings were in the same hospital. It was Dorothea who wheeled her across the building to see them.

Most of them fell into comas within the first day of exposure, while Edelgard was still barely aware of what was happening, and died a few days later. She never really got to say goodbye to them; at least, not that they’d be able to register.

The only one whose death she actually witnessed was Dimitri’s.

As Dorothea explained it, most of Edelgard’s siblings suffered from cardiovascular radiation sickness, which is always lethal. Dimitri’s sickness, however, appeared to be gastrointestinal, which has a slightly higher chance of recovery. After a few days, when she was starting to feel a bit better, Dorothea would bring her over to Dimitri’s room fairly often so that they could see each other.

Because of this, Edelgard didn’t need to be told that he wasn’t going to make it.

She could see it in the way his body deteriorated more and more with each passing day. Soon the big, strong athlete she remembered was nothing more than bones with a thin layer of flesh stretching over them. Even with the IV drip in his arm and the nurses hydrating him at every opportunity, nothing improved. Every day he looked more exhausted, as if even just talking and breathing used up all his energy.

It wasn’t until he spoke what would be his final words—a soft, raspy _Love you, El_ —that Edelgard finally broke down in tears, wrapping her arms around his mangled, emaciated body and hugging him as tightly as she could, and so she wept into his jagged shoulder.

She wept not only for him, but for her whole family, for her parents, for every single von Hresvelg she hadn’t been able to say goodbye to. She wept for their pain, and she wept for herself as the knowledge came crashing down on her that now she was completely alone. Everyone she loved had been taken away from her.

As Dorothea rubbed her back and dabbed at her tears with a tissue, Edelgard wheezed out, _It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me._

—

Edelgard watched the world collapse. She watched society at large fall apart. She watched her surroundings decay, from nature to buildings to people.

Now, medical service can mostly be found through individuals or small clinics. Most hospitals have been abandoned after several of them—including the one where Edelgard was treated—were targeted by smaller bombs meant to wipe out any survivors. That’s how Manuela died.

Edelgard and Dorothea were gone long before then, though. Dorothea decided that she didn’t want to be a nurse anymore; she’d already seen far too much death at the age of twenty-two, and no one could blame her. Edelgard, then, had been granted permission to leave so long as Dorothea could continue to keep an eye on her.

For about a month, things were okay. She and Dorothea traveled together, working odd jobs wherever they could, not that there were many people to work for. They’d raid long-abandoned houses for money, food, and supplies, and occasionally they’d squat there for a little while, before another group of survivors or some other obligation forced them to leave. Her hair started to grow back white, and Dorothea held her while she stood in shock in front of the mirror.

Somewhere along the way, they fell in love. At night, they’d tangle themselves in each other’s bodies, planting kisses on scars and scalps and everywhere that needed it. During the day, they’d hold hands or sit with their shoulders up against each other, sharing fond looks and hushed words.

When Edelgard woke up sick one day with a fever, Dorothea didn’t even look surprised. She just sighed and said, “There it is.” That day, they found a partially-inhabited motel and occupied a small room where Dorothea could always keep an eye on her.

Apparently, radiation syndrome often has a “latent phase” in which the body appears to be doing well before the illness strikes again in full force. Now Edelgard finds herself without an appetite, wracked by fever, and immensely, horribly vulnerable.

“It’ll blow over soon,” Dorothea says, but all Edelgard can see is Dimitri’s body just before his death—his skeletal frame, his gaunt cheeks, the fear and sorrow in his troubled eyes.

_That’s going to be me. That’s going to be me._

—

In the fever, Edelgard dreams.

She dreams of burning, of her whole body encased in flame while Dorothea watches in horror. She dreams of drowning, her breath stolen from her lungs as she tries and fails to swim up to the surface. She dreams of loss, of separation, of death.

But when she wakes up, Dorothea is there with a cold washcloth and a soothing voice. Just like before, she’s the one who forces Edelgard to eat and drink, who talks to her through her worry and frustration. “It’s okay,” she says, over and over. “You’ll be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Edelgard blurts that evening, when she’s actually coherent enough to feel guilty. She’s propped up against the headrest while Dorothea helps her eat a piece of toast. “For having to deal with me.”

Dorothea just chuckles. “Honey,” she says, and her eyes look so soft and fond that Edelgard almost melts, “I _chose_ this. I went into nursing because I wanted to take care of people.”

Edelgard laughs sheepishly. “It must be awful, though.”

Dorothea shrugs. “If it were anyone else, then maybe,” she says. “But not you. Never you.”

Edelgard takes the last bite of toast and washes it down with a swig of water. Then she sighs and sinks down into her pillow, closing her eyes. Her hair is stuck to her sweaty forehead, and she can feel Dorothea pushing it back.

“Love you, El,” she murmurs, resting her head against Edelgard’s chest. “You’ll be okay.” She giggles. “I should know. I’m a doctor.”

Normally Edelgard would say, _No, you’re not; you’re barely even a nurse._ But she can feel her eyelids getting heavy once again, so instead she yawns and says, “Very well, Dr. Arnault. I trust you.”

The last thing Edelgard hears before she falls into a dreamless sleep is Dorothea’s laugh, sweet and clear.

—

The fever breaks a week later. Neither Edelgard nor Dorothea are particularly religious, but that day they thank the Goddess so many times, one would think they were the two most pious women alive.

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah while i was writing that scene near the end i had a moment where i was like "WAIT A MINUTE i know EXACTLY what this sounds like" i couldn't help myself i am just a gay person. also dima if you're reading this sorry i made you die ilu :*


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